Just when I thought I had been through every wild animal problem in my house I turned up a new one. We’ve had mice, birds and even a squirrel loose in the house. The cat brings them in to play with them but then loses his grip on them somewhere inside the house and leaves us to deal with the problem. I wasn’t here for the squirrel episode but Beaven says he chased it all over the house. We had a bird loose on Easter just as I was ready to put dinner on the table. I thought the season was over; that all the babies had grown and learned to fly or run or climb or whatever they needed to do to escape getting caught in the first place. But Murphy brought in a mouse last night. I know you’ve heard me yak about this ad nausem many times. But what is different about it this time is that right now it’s caught in a glue trap behind the washer and dryer. And, even worse, it’s squeaking. It’s been squeaking all day.
Beaven has been gone all day and I don’t want to deal with it. Don’t want to wrestle the washer out of the way so I could get to it because, then what? Do I pick up this squeaking live and panic-stricken mouse? And what would I do with it if I did get it out? I’m not about to peel it off the glue. God, I can only imagine……what if the sucker got glued to me in the process? Then I’d have a live, wiggling and squeaking mouse stuck to me. They have made a lot of money off horror movies with weaker special effects.
The squeaking is really bothering me. I feel like I’m obligated to save it and there’s just no way I can do that. I mean, what do I do, wash the glue off it? It’s not like I have glue removal solvent in my bathroom cabinet. Especially the kind marked “safe for small rodents to breathe.”
My life is so quiet out here that small excitements like that become Really Big Deals. I know you’re sick of my mouse stories so here’s a new one:
I was telling someone a couple of weeks ago why I love to work with youth. One of the exciting benefits is the opportunity to watch kids grow up. What makes it interesting is that you never really know who you will end up with and I just love surprises. When I look back on my friends and my daughter’s friends, very often people turn out totally different than they appeared when they were young. A lot of times the fat ones lose weight, the skinny ones get fat, the smart ones flunk out, the popular ones become reclusive. You can never bank on what you think these kids will end up like.
But I was not prepared for the surprise I got a few weeks ago when I ran across my first transgendered friend. I’m not one to get shocked by much and even this didn’t register very high on my “Whoa!” scale. It’s not really any of my business, anyway. But the whole idea of re-inventing yourself appeals to my imagination. Knowing this guy was eventually going to change his name, I immediately nominated myself to the “Name Committee.” About the only thing I’ve ever been able to name have been my own two children and an assortment of kittens and puppies. So far, everyone in my family seems OK with names I have given them. Of course, the dogs and cats don’t talk so I wouldn’t know their opinions.
But what an opportunity! How often does a person get to pick their own name? I sent my friend a couple of ideas. One, in particular, was thoroughly researched and I thought a really cool name but I haven’t heard back.
Those who have read this blog enough to be sick of listening to me talk about the mice and birds loose in our house are also tired of me talking about changing my name to Trixie. And, every time I write about this I sit back that think, “Surely, this time people will actually start calling me this now.” And it never happens. Pope Benedict got to change his name and I’ll bet people can’t even remember his name before he became the Pope. Camilla Parker-Bowles got to become “Duchess of Cornwall.” I’m not asking for a lot. Just a tiny little nickname. I’m not trying to change my driver’s license or even my sex. You don’t even have to call me “Trixie” all the time, just once in a while; maybe when you’re in an especially whimsical mood.
That’s 700 words. I hope it was worth your time this week.
Your faithful correspondent,
Trixie
More formally known as Trixie Belle Els
About Me
- Jane
- I'm pretty much a typist for the Holy Spirit. I try to put those things into words in a blog called Jane's Journey. I have another blog for recipes called My Life in Food. Also Really Cool Stuff features Labyrinths and other things like how to fry an egg on the sidewalk.(first step: don't do it on the sidewalk, use a skillet) Come along with me as I careen through life.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Theology of Energizers
I spent last weekend with the elementary school kids from my church. KidQuake is designed for grades one through fifth but this was the first year we took our first graders. We had an array of stuffed animals that would make Old MacDonald jealous. We had Celeste, the dog, and Pig, the pig, plus Doggie. All were welcomed since we’ve seen Anita in action when she’s lost Doggie and, believe me, nobody wanted to go through that again.
Ever been to a worship service led by a bunch of first graders? I can report that God was probably tickled to death. I was. Youth events always end with worship on Sunday morning. Two girls from my church led the scripture readings. Sarah is finishing the first grade and Lucy, the fourth. We huddled together with the adults helping them re-write the accounts of three miracles into words that the girls could read. Because, you know, some of the words in the bible are just big’ol worlds. There’s always the chance that a “Samaritan” might become a “salamander,” as it did in our case. Not to worry, as much as we practiced, when the worship service finally came, the liturgists spoke so softly that probably only God heard and I figure God knew what they meant.
I’ve lost count of how many youth events I’ve been to but I think my first one was almost 20 years ago. Energizers, one of the best things about these retreats, weren’t even invented when I started. I love Energizers. But my first problem here is to explain them to folks who have never seen one. Silly dances. With moves like the “lawn sprinkler” or the “cat-dog”; the “Tarzan” or the “alligator,” it’s hard to pin down the exact moves.
The first time I saw an energizer I was with our new Director of Christian Education. Melanie had just graduated from the Presbyterian School of Christian Education with a master's degree. I’m sure learning silly dances was one of the required classes so I didn’t feel too stupid that she knew how to do the dances and I didn’t. She had a master’s degree in them, after all. But, as many times as I’ve seen them, I’ve given up on knowing how to do them perfectly. I’ve learned, instead, how to enjoy them. And, this, I now realize is the whole point of how we are to live our lives. Maybe not perfectly, but with good intentions and joy in the attempt.
Nobody does them alike. The Istanbul energizer is known to every Presbyterian youth in the nation but the kids in Maryland do them different from the kids in Texas. The differences are slight and inconsequential. Because the beauty, the insane delight, is that you don’t have to do them like everybody else. This is a godsend to someone like me who is uncoordinated. The whole point of an energizer is to just get out there and move your body.
As the years have gone by, I find that my appreciation of this gift is greater even when my ability to celebrate it may have decreased. It was a little like using body language but in a foreign language. We had over a hundred people crowded into one room designed for maybe sixty, flopping their feet, arms akimbo, jumping up and down, ostensibly in one accord with the others.
When we got to Camp Gilmont, the weather predicted rain and it did indeed, rain buckets that night and the next morning. The folks who run these events just quietly moved to Plan B with no fanfare or fuss. We had bible study, crafts, music, energizers, kid-friendly food and even nap time. When the weather changed and the sun came out we roamed all over the camp, climbing Mount Gilmont to check the cross at the top, and down to the lake to check what the beavers had done.
For me, personally, the best part was sharing it with my youngest daughter, Emily, and her two daughters. We had three generations together celebrating God’s love for us and our love for God. It doesn’t get any better.
The future of the church is in good hands. In the hands of people who now understand miracles even if they may think the Good Samaritan is a salamander.
Ever been to a worship service led by a bunch of first graders? I can report that God was probably tickled to death. I was. Youth events always end with worship on Sunday morning. Two girls from my church led the scripture readings. Sarah is finishing the first grade and Lucy, the fourth. We huddled together with the adults helping them re-write the accounts of three miracles into words that the girls could read. Because, you know, some of the words in the bible are just big’ol worlds. There’s always the chance that a “Samaritan” might become a “salamander,” as it did in our case. Not to worry, as much as we practiced, when the worship service finally came, the liturgists spoke so softly that probably only God heard and I figure God knew what they meant.
I’ve lost count of how many youth events I’ve been to but I think my first one was almost 20 years ago. Energizers, one of the best things about these retreats, weren’t even invented when I started. I love Energizers. But my first problem here is to explain them to folks who have never seen one. Silly dances. With moves like the “lawn sprinkler” or the “cat-dog”; the “Tarzan” or the “alligator,” it’s hard to pin down the exact moves.
The first time I saw an energizer I was with our new Director of Christian Education. Melanie had just graduated from the Presbyterian School of Christian Education with a master's degree. I’m sure learning silly dances was one of the required classes so I didn’t feel too stupid that she knew how to do the dances and I didn’t. She had a master’s degree in them, after all. But, as many times as I’ve seen them, I’ve given up on knowing how to do them perfectly. I’ve learned, instead, how to enjoy them. And, this, I now realize is the whole point of how we are to live our lives. Maybe not perfectly, but with good intentions and joy in the attempt.
Nobody does them alike. The Istanbul energizer is known to every Presbyterian youth in the nation but the kids in Maryland do them different from the kids in Texas. The differences are slight and inconsequential. Because the beauty, the insane delight, is that you don’t have to do them like everybody else. This is a godsend to someone like me who is uncoordinated. The whole point of an energizer is to just get out there and move your body.
As the years have gone by, I find that my appreciation of this gift is greater even when my ability to celebrate it may have decreased. It was a little like using body language but in a foreign language. We had over a hundred people crowded into one room designed for maybe sixty, flopping their feet, arms akimbo, jumping up and down, ostensibly in one accord with the others.
When we got to Camp Gilmont, the weather predicted rain and it did indeed, rain buckets that night and the next morning. The folks who run these events just quietly moved to Plan B with no fanfare or fuss. We had bible study, crafts, music, energizers, kid-friendly food and even nap time. When the weather changed and the sun came out we roamed all over the camp, climbing Mount Gilmont to check the cross at the top, and down to the lake to check what the beavers had done.
For me, personally, the best part was sharing it with my youngest daughter, Emily, and her two daughters. We had three generations together celebrating God’s love for us and our love for God. It doesn’t get any better.
The future of the church is in good hands. In the hands of people who now understand miracles even if they may think the Good Samaritan is a salamander.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Words, etc
I don’t have any words. This weekly blog was supposed to discipline me to write every week even if I didn’t have any words. All the How To books said to just start writing and see what shows up on the page. I even took a class at SMU once on writing and the teacher drove me nuts with some of her ideas but the bottom line was they worked. So now I’m supposed to just start writing and see what comes out.
I think I’ve used up all of my pithy comments on face book. I’ve already posted anything interesting that happened this week. Plus, it’s just really hard to type while you’re eating popcorn.
I have a folder in my file cabinet marked “Ideas to Ponder.” This has always been my emergency back up plan. But I went to check it out just now and I can’t find it. I don’t know if that means I pondered everything already of if I lost it somewhere in the house.
Last week's blog ended with a promise to tell you something about how my friend Nancy celebrates Passover. It's all about Unleavened Bread but also about Freedom. When I talked to her about this over lunch she told me she's always struck by how many leaven products are part of our Easter when it's supposedly based on Passover.
Passover celebrates the Jews' escape from slavery in Egypt. And they had to leave so quickly that they didn't take time to let the day's bread rise before baking it. The unleavened feature is such an integral part of the celebration that you are supposed to search you house for even a crumb of leavened bread and get rid of it. Nancy is very devout but also very modern and intense housecleaning isn't on her agenda. Her solution to this instruction is to take a string and tie shut all the kitchen cabinets except for one or two that she cleans thoroughly. When Passover passes she unties the strings and life returns to normal. Very clever.
I think her comment comes from the cultural whirlpool that sucks in her family at the grocery store. Any American holiday has special pastries. In New Orleans I could count on having King's Cake during Easter and it was worth the wait for Easter to roll around. But it's chock full of yeast.
The other insight Nancy gave me was how personal the issue of slavery is to Jews. They all consider themselves ex-slaves as a result of the exodus and passover. Tis explains why the civli rights movement drew so many Jewish sympathizers.
But that's about all I've got on Passover. Nt enough words yet.
Our cat has developed a serious bird addiction. Naturally, he decided to bring the first bird into the kitchen just as I was putting Easter lunch on the table. He brought a couple more in yesterday and I spent a lot of the morning monitoring his activities outside. The minute I let my guard down, he brought in another bird. I guess all the new babies are learning to fly and these flew too low or too slow. You can’t really blame Murphy for doing what comes naturally to him. I just wish he wouldn’t bring them into the house. Especially when they’re still alive and chirping. I hate it when they chirp. He does the same thing with mice when winter comes and some of them squeak. I hate it when they squeak, too. I know if I could translate chirps or squeaks they would be calling for their mothers or saying, “Help me, Help me!” I always feel obligated to save them but it’s usually too late. The whole exercise just makes me feel guilty.
If you’ll give me a pass for today I’ll show you my book. Here it is: Three parts, 48 chapters, 129,119 words. A few black and white photos and a resource section that includes recipes.
I guess I really do have words. I have 129,119. I know you all are really tired of me yapping about this book. No one is more tired of it all than I am. Beaven finished the income tax yesterday and tomorrow he packs up all the papers to file them all away . I can’t wait to get this book off to press so I can pack up all my papers and get back to finding new words for Wednesdays. And maybe by then I'll find the Ideas to Ponder and we can ponder them together.
I think I’ve used up all of my pithy comments on face book. I’ve already posted anything interesting that happened this week. Plus, it’s just really hard to type while you’re eating popcorn.
I have a folder in my file cabinet marked “Ideas to Ponder.” This has always been my emergency back up plan. But I went to check it out just now and I can’t find it. I don’t know if that means I pondered everything already of if I lost it somewhere in the house.
Last week's blog ended with a promise to tell you something about how my friend Nancy celebrates Passover. It's all about Unleavened Bread but also about Freedom. When I talked to her about this over lunch she told me she's always struck by how many leaven products are part of our Easter when it's supposedly based on Passover.
Passover celebrates the Jews' escape from slavery in Egypt. And they had to leave so quickly that they didn't take time to let the day's bread rise before baking it. The unleavened feature is such an integral part of the celebration that you are supposed to search you house for even a crumb of leavened bread and get rid of it. Nancy is very devout but also very modern and intense housecleaning isn't on her agenda. Her solution to this instruction is to take a string and tie shut all the kitchen cabinets except for one or two that she cleans thoroughly. When Passover passes she unties the strings and life returns to normal. Very clever.
I think her comment comes from the cultural whirlpool that sucks in her family at the grocery store. Any American holiday has special pastries. In New Orleans I could count on having King's Cake during Easter and it was worth the wait for Easter to roll around. But it's chock full of yeast.
The other insight Nancy gave me was how personal the issue of slavery is to Jews. They all consider themselves ex-slaves as a result of the exodus and passover. Tis explains why the civli rights movement drew so many Jewish sympathizers.
But that's about all I've got on Passover. Nt enough words yet.
Our cat has developed a serious bird addiction. Naturally, he decided to bring the first bird into the kitchen just as I was putting Easter lunch on the table. He brought a couple more in yesterday and I spent a lot of the morning monitoring his activities outside. The minute I let my guard down, he brought in another bird. I guess all the new babies are learning to fly and these flew too low or too slow. You can’t really blame Murphy for doing what comes naturally to him. I just wish he wouldn’t bring them into the house. Especially when they’re still alive and chirping. I hate it when they chirp. He does the same thing with mice when winter comes and some of them squeak. I hate it when they squeak, too. I know if I could translate chirps or squeaks they would be calling for their mothers or saying, “Help me, Help me!” I always feel obligated to save them but it’s usually too late. The whole exercise just makes me feel guilty.
If you’ll give me a pass for today I’ll show you my book. Here it is: Three parts, 48 chapters, 129,119 words. A few black and white photos and a resource section that includes recipes.
I guess I really do have words. I have 129,119. I know you all are really tired of me yapping about this book. No one is more tired of it all than I am. Beaven finished the income tax yesterday and tomorrow he packs up all the papers to file them all away . I can’t wait to get this book off to press so I can pack up all my papers and get back to finding new words for Wednesdays. And maybe by then I'll find the Ideas to Ponder and we can ponder them together.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Happy Passover/Happy Easter
I was intending to write about the Jewish tradition of Passover today. I cooked up a lunch date with my old friend Nancy Greenfield. I wanted to get her take on the tradition. Passover is so ingrained in both Christianity and Judaism it just seemed like it would be interesting to compare the two this year.
God must have known I am doing double duty this week, what with posting for Nancy Gray’s blog (see my link to her blog: Positively Indecisive But Sure of Grace) while she is off to God Knows Where and not coming back until “Tuesday”, which apparently wasn’t yesterday since nothing got posted until I did it. So God sent me a gift guest columnist in the form of an open letter from my other Nancy that she emailed me today and asked if I would publish it. So dear readers, your wisdom for Easter this year will come to you from my Jewish friend, Nancy Greenfield.
As you read along you may notice that Nancy isn’t the rabid fan of Obama that I am, which is a little sad because we’ve usually celebrated a shared political philosophy. She still is a little leery of what she finds a lack of support for Israel and the Jewish people from Obama. But her message of love and thanks will fit the Easter season well. And she encourages you to share her message with others. Nancy is of a people for whom the Holocaust was intensely intimate and unforgettable. She reminds us that we can never let our guard down.
Maybe next week I will tell you about our conversation about Passover and unleavened bread. Let me just say that I am content to know that right now she is cleaning house like a mad woman to clear out all the leavened bread before Passover starts while I sit back knowing all I have to do is show up at my daughter’s house Sunday with a plate of deviled eggs.
Dear American Christians,
I am a Jew who wants to wish you a Happy Easter. It isn’t my holiday but I respect it in the same way you respect the Jewish holiday of Passover which is also celebrated in the springtime. Christians and Jews understand respect because we are American and we value our freedom of religion and our practice of tolerance.
Christians have always been the majority religion and have set the tone for religious harmony in America. I am writing this letter to thank you and the entire Christian community for helping maintain religious freedom in America and keeping our country an eternally safe haven for Jews.
Being a safe haven for Jews is no small thing in today’s world. Jew-haters around the globe have shown their power this year in print, on-line and in person with savage attacks of Jewish businesses, synagogues and homes. Jews have been literally beaten on the streets in civilized cities like Amsterdam, Antwerp, Athens, Barcelona, Berlin, Caracas, Florence, Montevideo, and Paris.
Thank God I live in an America where Jews have been safe from such anti-Semitic violence.
Nonetheless even in America, after the Israeli military action in January, there were protests at government buildings and on college campuses that got pretty nasty from a hate Israel, hate the Jews perspective. Unable to separate Israel the nation from the Jewish people, one anti-Israel protester called for the Jews to go back to the gas chambers.
Did you see the cartoon on the March 25th New York Times On-line Edition? It was a black headless, booted figure. The creature held a sword in one hand and in the other pushed a Star of David wheel with fangs. The creature was attacking a tiny “Gaza” woman protecting her child. There was no mention of the country of Israel anywhere which means that this cartoon went beyond civil political commentary to a nasty condemnation of all Jews.
This disturbing trend of associating political Israel as synonymous with the Jewish people may get worse with the upcoming United Nations World Conference Against Racism April 20-24 2009 in Geneva, Switzerland. Conceived as an instrument for peace, the U.N.’s membership and Conference participants are dominated by extremist Muslim countries with a history of promoting passionate hatred of Israel. The Conference itself starts on April 20th which, coincidentally, is Hitler’s birthday.
The Obama administration has decided to participate in this Conference so be prepared for the media to cover the event and beware of the blurring of hate of Israel and hate for Jews. Don’t be fooled by anti-Semitism disguised as news reporting.
Please, all of you who are reading this letter, remain as you have been, strong and forthright in your protection of America as the home of religious freedom for all faiths and an eternally safe haven for Jews.
Many thanks again to each of you Christians and may you all have a Happy Easter.
Nancy Greenfield
God must have known I am doing double duty this week, what with posting for Nancy Gray’s blog (see my link to her blog: Positively Indecisive But Sure of Grace) while she is off to God Knows Where and not coming back until “Tuesday”, which apparently wasn’t yesterday since nothing got posted until I did it. So God sent me a gift guest columnist in the form of an open letter from my other Nancy that she emailed me today and asked if I would publish it. So dear readers, your wisdom for Easter this year will come to you from my Jewish friend, Nancy Greenfield.
As you read along you may notice that Nancy isn’t the rabid fan of Obama that I am, which is a little sad because we’ve usually celebrated a shared political philosophy. She still is a little leery of what she finds a lack of support for Israel and the Jewish people from Obama. But her message of love and thanks will fit the Easter season well. And she encourages you to share her message with others. Nancy is of a people for whom the Holocaust was intensely intimate and unforgettable. She reminds us that we can never let our guard down.
Maybe next week I will tell you about our conversation about Passover and unleavened bread. Let me just say that I am content to know that right now she is cleaning house like a mad woman to clear out all the leavened bread before Passover starts while I sit back knowing all I have to do is show up at my daughter’s house Sunday with a plate of deviled eggs.
Dear American Christians,
I am a Jew who wants to wish you a Happy Easter. It isn’t my holiday but I respect it in the same way you respect the Jewish holiday of Passover which is also celebrated in the springtime. Christians and Jews understand respect because we are American and we value our freedom of religion and our practice of tolerance.
Christians have always been the majority religion and have set the tone for religious harmony in America. I am writing this letter to thank you and the entire Christian community for helping maintain religious freedom in America and keeping our country an eternally safe haven for Jews.
Being a safe haven for Jews is no small thing in today’s world. Jew-haters around the globe have shown their power this year in print, on-line and in person with savage attacks of Jewish businesses, synagogues and homes. Jews have been literally beaten on the streets in civilized cities like Amsterdam, Antwerp, Athens, Barcelona, Berlin, Caracas, Florence, Montevideo, and Paris.
Thank God I live in an America where Jews have been safe from such anti-Semitic violence.
Nonetheless even in America, after the Israeli military action in January, there were protests at government buildings and on college campuses that got pretty nasty from a hate Israel, hate the Jews perspective. Unable to separate Israel the nation from the Jewish people, one anti-Israel protester called for the Jews to go back to the gas chambers.
Did you see the cartoon on the March 25th New York Times On-line Edition? It was a black headless, booted figure. The creature held a sword in one hand and in the other pushed a Star of David wheel with fangs. The creature was attacking a tiny “Gaza” woman protecting her child. There was no mention of the country of Israel anywhere which means that this cartoon went beyond civil political commentary to a nasty condemnation of all Jews.
This disturbing trend of associating political Israel as synonymous with the Jewish people may get worse with the upcoming United Nations World Conference Against Racism April 20-24 2009 in Geneva, Switzerland. Conceived as an instrument for peace, the U.N.’s membership and Conference participants are dominated by extremist Muslim countries with a history of promoting passionate hatred of Israel. The Conference itself starts on April 20th which, coincidentally, is Hitler’s birthday.
The Obama administration has decided to participate in this Conference so be prepared for the media to cover the event and beware of the blurring of hate of Israel and hate for Jews. Don’t be fooled by anti-Semitism disguised as news reporting.
Please, all of you who are reading this letter, remain as you have been, strong and forthright in your protection of America as the home of religious freedom for all faiths and an eternally safe haven for Jews.
Many thanks again to each of you Christians and may you all have a Happy Easter.
Nancy Greenfield
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
April and Other Fools
I’m not big on April Fool’s jokes. But about 30 years ago I played the perfect April Fools joke, the one no other could surpass, the one my daughter’s friends have used, the one that lives in memory. I haven’t been able to top it.
It wasn’t that big a joke but it was a win-win one; the best kind where everyone enjoys it. I set all the clocks ahead an hour the night before. Then on the morning of April 1st I woke the girls up in a panic that we had overslept. I rushed them to get ready, proving for once and for all that, yes, they are capable of moving faster when they want to. Once I got them in the car I told them “April Fool” and they were clearly fooled. Then we went out to eat for breakfast since we had an extra hour’s time.
And then—even better—I played the same exact joke on them the following year and they fell for it again. I remember the glee of driving to the restaurant and hoo-hawing in amazement, “You fell for it again!”
I’m afraid I don’t have a comparable joke for you this morning. Don’t bother watching for it. There’s no joke today. All I have is a couple of random thoughts that have been fluttering around in my mind, half-baked. My hope is that by exposing them to the light of day and some fresh air, maybe they will develop into fully baked thoughts.
First, since I’ve been noticing sounds lately, I thought I’d mention what interesting sounds are around us if only we think to listen. I was at a Taize prayer service Saturday night and it’s very quiet and contemplative. There is a lot of silence built into the service, including a long period for reflection. I began to notice the building was making a noise. I remembered this sound. About ten years ago we built a new sanctuary, chapel and office space. And it’s all still settling, even years later. Or maybe it moves as it heats up or cools down. We have a light box at one end of the room in the chapel that holds some old stained glass windows. Maybe when we turned the light on there was just enough heat added to the box that the wood made a noise as it expanded.
I remember that every Sunday for a long time after the new sanctuary was built we would be greeted by the smell of fresh wood every week. And during quiet times we would hear the wood settle around its frame, getting use to its new body. I don’t notice the sound as much anymore until Saturday evening at Taize.
But there was also the time I sat down in a wooden pew in one of the oldest churches in the country, the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. Their pews were old and would move when you sat in them. It was as though they were adapting to fit your individual size and shape. Barbara Brown Taylor calls them “prayer-soaked pews.” I expect this talent doesn’t come to pews quickly or easily. It takes time to develop this ability. And I decided that day I like it when the pew moves to greet your weight, to accommodate you. It was a friendly feeling.
The other thing I wanted to take a little time to think about today may startle you so get ready.
Our pastor intern preached the sermon a couple of weeks ago and, please forgive me Angus for not remembering the main point of the sermon, because I got very distracted by the pictures he was showing as he talked. (We often have visuals at our early service. It's very "alternative.") Whatever the sermon was about, he was illustrating it with pictures of the buildings in New York on September 11, 2001: the debris flying out into the air; the fire ball; the smoke billowing out broken windows. At one point he showed a photo of Osama bin Laden and the sight made me cringe a bit inside. The sight of the man was even more disturbing than the pictures of the devastation.
I was so distracted by the photo I couldn’t pay attention to what Angus was saying. The sight of Osama bin Laden’s face made me very uncomfortable. I kept thinking I wished we could move on to another photo. The longer the photo stayed up the more distracted I was. Finally he moved to another slide and I suspect everyone else in the congregation was as relieved as I was. I’m not a person to hate much but I guess Osama bin Laden has replaced Hitler now as the most hated figure in American istory.
The few tortured moments the image was projected onto the screen at the front of our sanctuary stayed in my mind that day. Then, that afternoon, after time had passed and my mind cleared, a very bizarre thought hit me. That is probably what Jesus looked like. You know, the guy who is painted a lot holding a lamb with little children gathered at his feet—that Jesus. The chubby little cherub who started life in a manger. Yeah, that Jesus.
Stay with me here, don’t freak out. Both men were from the middle-east. They would share the same skin color. They are both always pictured wearing traditional robes of the middle-east region. Why shouldn’t they look alike? Actually, Jesus was probably shorter than bin Laden. Maybe not even attractive. Just an ordinary human-looking guy.
There’s no joke here—just something to think about. Like I said, I have only-half-baked ideas to offer today. Try figuring out what it means and let me know because I haven’t a clue what to think of it, either. Let’s see if we can bake this into something we can both use.
I am toying with the idea of putting both of their pictures side by side here at the bottom but I just don’t think I have the nerve. Use your imagination.
It wasn’t that big a joke but it was a win-win one; the best kind where everyone enjoys it. I set all the clocks ahead an hour the night before. Then on the morning of April 1st I woke the girls up in a panic that we had overslept. I rushed them to get ready, proving for once and for all that, yes, they are capable of moving faster when they want to. Once I got them in the car I told them “April Fool” and they were clearly fooled. Then we went out to eat for breakfast since we had an extra hour’s time.
And then—even better—I played the same exact joke on them the following year and they fell for it again. I remember the glee of driving to the restaurant and hoo-hawing in amazement, “You fell for it again!”
I’m afraid I don’t have a comparable joke for you this morning. Don’t bother watching for it. There’s no joke today. All I have is a couple of random thoughts that have been fluttering around in my mind, half-baked. My hope is that by exposing them to the light of day and some fresh air, maybe they will develop into fully baked thoughts.
First, since I’ve been noticing sounds lately, I thought I’d mention what interesting sounds are around us if only we think to listen. I was at a Taize prayer service Saturday night and it’s very quiet and contemplative. There is a lot of silence built into the service, including a long period for reflection. I began to notice the building was making a noise. I remembered this sound. About ten years ago we built a new sanctuary, chapel and office space. And it’s all still settling, even years later. Or maybe it moves as it heats up or cools down. We have a light box at one end of the room in the chapel that holds some old stained glass windows. Maybe when we turned the light on there was just enough heat added to the box that the wood made a noise as it expanded.
I remember that every Sunday for a long time after the new sanctuary was built we would be greeted by the smell of fresh wood every week. And during quiet times we would hear the wood settle around its frame, getting use to its new body. I don’t notice the sound as much anymore until Saturday evening at Taize.
But there was also the time I sat down in a wooden pew in one of the oldest churches in the country, the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. Their pews were old and would move when you sat in them. It was as though they were adapting to fit your individual size and shape. Barbara Brown Taylor calls them “prayer-soaked pews.” I expect this talent doesn’t come to pews quickly or easily. It takes time to develop this ability. And I decided that day I like it when the pew moves to greet your weight, to accommodate you. It was a friendly feeling.
The other thing I wanted to take a little time to think about today may startle you so get ready.
Our pastor intern preached the sermon a couple of weeks ago and, please forgive me Angus for not remembering the main point of the sermon, because I got very distracted by the pictures he was showing as he talked. (We often have visuals at our early service. It's very "alternative.") Whatever the sermon was about, he was illustrating it with pictures of the buildings in New York on September 11, 2001: the debris flying out into the air; the fire ball; the smoke billowing out broken windows. At one point he showed a photo of Osama bin Laden and the sight made me cringe a bit inside. The sight of the man was even more disturbing than the pictures of the devastation.
I was so distracted by the photo I couldn’t pay attention to what Angus was saying. The sight of Osama bin Laden’s face made me very uncomfortable. I kept thinking I wished we could move on to another photo. The longer the photo stayed up the more distracted I was. Finally he moved to another slide and I suspect everyone else in the congregation was as relieved as I was. I’m not a person to hate much but I guess Osama bin Laden has replaced Hitler now as the most hated figure in American istory.
The few tortured moments the image was projected onto the screen at the front of our sanctuary stayed in my mind that day. Then, that afternoon, after time had passed and my mind cleared, a very bizarre thought hit me. That is probably what Jesus looked like. You know, the guy who is painted a lot holding a lamb with little children gathered at his feet—that Jesus. The chubby little cherub who started life in a manger. Yeah, that Jesus.
Stay with me here, don’t freak out. Both men were from the middle-east. They would share the same skin color. They are both always pictured wearing traditional robes of the middle-east region. Why shouldn’t they look alike? Actually, Jesus was probably shorter than bin Laden. Maybe not even attractive. Just an ordinary human-looking guy.
There’s no joke here—just something to think about. Like I said, I have only-half-baked ideas to offer today. Try figuring out what it means and let me know because I haven’t a clue what to think of it, either. Let’s see if we can bake this into something we can both use.
I am toying with the idea of putting both of their pictures side by side here at the bottom but I just don’t think I have the nerve. Use your imagination.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)